Ryou Bakura's Wall
by millennium rod
Summary: The story of Ryou Bakura, who let his loneliness, isolation, and suffering become the second thing in his life to take him over. After all, he's just another brick in the wall. Based moderately on Pink Floyd's "The Wall."
1. In the Flesh?

It really is funny, you know. That any of you are actually here to listen to what I have to say. Although it could just be me who feels that way- I'm the first one to admit that I'm not very perceptive when it comes to people's opinions of me. But I suppose it's justified, in a way- no one ever really listened before, after all. Not one of the people who said they cared for me is still here. Not even _him._

Yes, _him. _He IS the one you came for, isn't he? Did it surprise you, when you realized that the one in front of you was someone other than the spirit of the millennium ring? You wouldn't be the first; it wouldn't matter to me in the slightest if you did. I mean, he _is _the more noticeable of the two of us. His habits of blatantly laughing in his victim's faces, threatening their lives, and kicking them when they're down are extremely hard to miss. It doesn't help, I'm sure, that my tone is slightly off from the innocent, naive image that I always projected back then. I never saw the difference, but most of the people I speak to nowadays that used to know me mention the changes in me more than anything else.

No, you won't find any of the baseless, selfless loyalty to my former friends, nor the kindness that I always liked to think was based somewhere- however deep- in my original personality. That was then, and this is now; and now is the time in my life where I not only recognize the ugliness of the world, but have even come to accept it.

I won't hold back anymore. For years I stayed quiet, and held everything- negative and positive alike- deep inside myself. But now, I've finished doing my time in complete silence. The stage is set for the story of Ryou Bakura, the simple, lonely child who was caught up in circumstances beyond his wildest imagination, ones he would never have the chance to fully understand.

No, I'm going to tell you everything. Why shouldn't I, really? I made my way through every last second of it already, and now I'm going to make a story out of it. I won't be anything beyond a character; a pawn, even, the type found in anything from fairy tales to a tragic soap opera. It won't matter if it's beyond painful to relive those days. My feelings are a catalyst in this story, and nothing more. As long as someone- _anyone- _is listening to me, my story exists for them, and their entertainment- however sadistic it may be. And I know for a fact that no one will be satisfied until every single minute detail has been laid bare. Unless I'm honest, this entire thing will be meaningless.

And who knows? Maybe in the end, there's a happy ending waiting for me. I _am _still alive, after all, and that alone guarantees me a future. It could last a millisecond or it could stretch on for several years from now. Maybe by the end, I'll know something that I don't right now. And maybe- just _maybe_- that piece of knowledge will lead to something akin to happiness. _Closure_, if you will.

Maybe someday, I really will be my own self again.

So please, enjoy my life story. Fascinate yourself with the character of Ryou Bakura, and break him down in your mind until you find the actor somewhere within him. Then, maybe you'll understand his actions. Maybe you'll gain even a little bit of insight into my thoughts- my past thoughts, my current thoughts, and even my future thoughts. Maybe you'll see past the twisted spirit you've always known that possessed my body, and go far enough to reach the other residing soul, corroded from the very beginning by the darkness inside him.

That, I guess, is my challenge to you. Break apart the mask I've worn for so many years, and discover for yourself the true Ryou Bakura behind the elaborate disguise.

The curtain is rising, and the show is beginning.

Xxx

I'm not even going to talk about my feelings on starting new fics anymore, because it's not worth it. But before I start, I do want to mention that this fic is something that I've wanted to write for a long, long time. Back when I was 12 years old- totally new to fanfiction and Yugioh- I got the idea to write a fic based off of one of the albums my dad (who died about a month before I posted my first story here) had gotten me into. In other words, Pink Floyd's The Wall. It was going to be a songfic back then, but I'm glad I ditched that idea, because I think this is more interesting to read- I always hated reading through random chunks or lyrics in fics like that.

Obviously, this fic won't entirely follow the plot of the original. If it did, it would be less fanfiction and more inserting pre-written characters into a pre-written plot. No, I'm really aiming to use it as more of an inspiration than anything. I'm making it a sort of game for myself, seeing how I can take the basic themes in each song and make them fit Ryou's character. I have the first half outlined already, so I actually have no excuse not to update this regularly. This is just a prologue, and I'll be jumping into actual plot next chapter.

I'll talk more about this project as I go along, but I need to stop talking. Like, now. So I'll see you next chapter (when the real story kicks off), and I hope you'll take the time to leave some quick feedback.


	2. The Thin Ice

This may come as a surprise, but the majority of my earliest childhood memories are very happy ones. Even when I think of other pleasant things that have happened throughout my life, they never really reach the level of fondness that I hold for those days. Maybe I was happier back then simply because I didn't know any better- being comfortable and safe was a given, every single day. I lived in my own little utopia, where anything negative could be completely forgotten after one day, with no lasting impacts on anything. Everyone I cared about smiled all the time, and I was never given any reason to be the exception.

My mother was as close as I think she could have been to a perfect parent. She embodied nearly every imaginable quality- however cliche- that was associated with the family movies I used to see on television- she genuinely seemed to care for her family, and did what we could to make sure we had what we needed.

As for my father, he had only just broken into his new job as an archeologist when I was born, so it wasn't uncommon for him to leave on business trips several times a year. But that never really mattered to me; mostly because when he did come home, usually around the holidays or my birthday, he always arrived with new stories to share with my mother and I. Even back then I was captivated by his stories of the Egyptian ruins he helped uncover, and I couldn't have been much older than five years old when I asked him for the first (and, if my memories are correct, only) time when I would be able to come along on one of his trips. He laughed, ruffled my hair (an old habit of his), and said, "Maybe when you're older." I'm sure I pouted at his answer- just as I always had when I got that response- but like any other issue at the time, I managed to completely forget about it by the next morning.

My days passed in a blur of warmth and happiness, and I never once considered that my perfect world could shatter at any given moment.

Even when I found out that I was going to have a baby sister, I wasn't bothered in the slightest. I told my friends after school one day, and their responses were typical for eight-year-old boys- "Your parents won't have any time for you once the baby is born," one of them said, while another muttered something about his annoying baby cousin. But not even their concerns were enough to worry me in the slightest. My parents were happy that there would be a new member of the family, and as far as I knew at that point, they were _always_ right. I had no reason to doubt them, or to be any less excited for my new sibling.

I remember the first time I saw her, too. And when I saw how small she really was, how _fragile _she was, I didn't just accept my new role as her older brother. I _embraced _it, anxiously awaiting the moment when I could tell her everything I knew about anything.

But not long after Amane's arrival, my parents made the decision to move out of our small home in the English countryside. Apparently my father was quickly growing dissatisfied with his job, and had found a position in a Japanese museum, in the same city where he had been raised. His main argument in favor of leaving was that this new job was close enough to home that he could be with us more often, and it worked exactly as he meant it to. So my mother, father, Amane (who had just turned about six months old), and I loaded up what we could keep of our possessions, and exchanged our peaceful home in England for the crowded, bustling city of Tokyo, Japan.

It didn't take very long for me to figure out just how _different _things were when you lived in the city. I had spent the first nine years of my life in a small town, made up of only about five hundred people. I had known and played with each and every one of the other children, and I knew the names and faces of nearly every adult as well. I had never once felt lonely there, because someone was always there. We were, in a way, an extended family to one another.

The city, however, was entirely different. I saw new faces every single time I left our new apartment, and not one of them would ever spare me so much as a glance in my direction. One of my mother's first rules upon arrival was that I was absolutely not allowed out of the house by myself, and I never once fought her decision. It got to the point where not even my mother could take me out much without a good reason. I was terrified of the huge crowds that seemed to regenerate around every corner, and the new strangers that could be lurking in the middle of them. I had no idea what anyone was thinking, and my overactive imagination created possibilities that, although they would come off as laughable now, were sincerely scary at the time.

So instead of going out and making friends, I spent time at home with my mother, Amane, and- when he was home- my father. Several months passed like that, and as a result of both my unwillingness to go outside and the fact that I couldn't speak more than a few words of Japanese I had picked up from my father, I ended up being homeschooled for a while. Most of my time spent on studying was dedicated to learning Japanese; which, although I had been raised as an English speaker, was my father's first language, as well as my mother's second.

Since I had very little else to do with my time, I spent most of it studying for the first two years that I lived in Japan. Any unhappiness I felt towards my lack of friends my age was, without fail, immediately forgotten when my mother praised me for being such a quick learner. Just knowing that someone in the world was happy that I was alive was enough to keep me going. And that was why, up until the day of my eleventh birthday, I remained content with my life. I had my family to support me, and nothing else mattered.

Xxx

On September 2, 1991, I turned 11 years old.

Thinking about it now, I realize that I probably gained more years mentally on that one day than I had on the previous ten combined.

I still remember exactly how the day was _supposed _to play out. My father had gotten the day off from having to go into his job, even though he only had a week or so left to prepare for the opening of a new exhibit in the museum. My mother had promised to make me anything I wanted for dinner that night, and my sister (who had just turned three a few months ago) would spend the day with me as I tested out every single one of the games I had gotten for my birthday. It was a simple, childlike way of doing things, but that was how I had _always _spent my birthdays. It was familiar and comforting, and I never felt the need to try doing anything more extravagant.

I always asked for cream puffs on my birthday instead of the usual cake. Even by the time my first birthday in Tokyo came around, my mother made it her mission to find a way to get them for me. Fortunately, there was a small, family-owned bakery near our apartment that sold them. It was only about ten minutes away by foot, according to my mother. But I had never once stepped inside with her, my fear of walking through the city still just as prominent even after two years. Amane, on the other hand, was entirely comfortable in crowds, having spent nearly all of the time she could remember in the city. So that day, when my mother announced that she would be going out to make the trip, my sister immediately begged to accompany her. My mother nodded her head and smiled, and Amane raced towards the door so mother could help her get her shoes on. Then, right before she stepped outside, she turned to me with a huge smile on her face, waving to me. I smiled, said goodbye, and waved back. Satisfied with my reaction, she ran out the door to catch up with mother.

That, I think, is the last part of my memories from that day that I refuse to let go of, even if the rest are scenes that I would erase from my mind in a heartbeat.

My father had stayed behind with me at home, but he had said around lunchtime that he wanted to get at least _some _of his work done, and that he would probably stay in his office until it was time to eat dinner. Knowing how much my father hated any sort of interruption while he was trying to get something done, I decided to stay out of his way completely and read a book I had just received that morning.

About 45 minutes passed like that before, out of nowhere, something started to feel… off. I couldn't place what that "something" was, but all of a sudden, I felt as though I had taken a blow to the stomach. My heart started beating a little bit faster, and all the air seemed to disappear from my body. Through the complete panic I was feeling, the only other thing running through my mind was, "Why?" Why was this happening all of a sudden? I had been fine just a second ago, hadn't I…?

Wincing, I set down by book and looked up, my eyes locking onto the old clock that was hanging on the opposite side of the living room.

As I pieced together what exactly was wrong with the sight in front of me, the feeling of dread in my stomach increased by even more, and I vaguely noticed myself shaking just the slightest bit. Now, this is about the moment when my memory starts to get fuzzier around the edges, but I think I sat there, completely still, for around a minute before it finally hit me why things felt so wrong.

Mother's and Amane's trip to the bakery should have taken, based on past experience, no more than a half hour, even if they were stopped by heavy traffic or a long line at the register.

So why was it that, in their absence, the hour hand had entirely shifted from the three to the four?

I briefly considered some possible reasons for why they could still be gone. Had they taken a last-minute side trip? Had they run into someone they knew at the bakery? I don't remember how long I sat there, or how many possibilities I managed to come up with. I just know that when I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of the phone ringing, I still hadn't come anywhere near the truth I was about to face.

I had thought nothing of the fact that someone was calling our house. I knew there were still relatives who hadn't made their annual happy birthday call that day because of the time difference between Japan and England, so I picked it up expecting a temporary relief from my worrying.

"Hello?" I answered in English, which I had started reserving exclusively for calls from extended family.

"Ryou? Is that you?" The Japanese response threw me off for a moment, until I recognized the voice as my mother's. Even after that, though, I was still extremely confused. Where could she have been calling from? Did she find a pay phone somewhere? And for that matter, why couldn't she have waited until she made the short trip back home?

Why did she sound so… frightened?

I had never heard my mother get this worked up about anything. Even as a child when I broke my arm after falling of my bike, she hadn't sounded _this _worried.

I swallowed, choosing my words as carefully as I could manage so that I wouldn't upset her any more. "Mom? Are you alright? Where are-"

"Ryou, I need you to put your father on the phone." Her tone left no room whatsoever for argument, but I still hesitated for a moment. Didn't she know how mad my father got when he was interrupted for anything…?

I tried to explain that he was still in his office doing his work, but she cut me off mid-sentence once again. "That's not important, Ryou. Tell him that he can go back to his work later, but I need to talk to him for right now."

"But-"

"Go, Ryou! _Now!_" I flinched a bit at her words-there was a new, powerful anger surging through her words that hadn't been there when I picked up the phone, and coming from my always-calm and collected mother, it scared me. Not wanting to push her any further, I hastily agreed to her request before setting the phone down and half-sprinting to father's office at the other end of the hallway.

I didn't knock, as I had always been told to do when I needed him. As soon as I had tested the doorknob and realized that it was unlocked, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

My father looked up at me and opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted him, not wanting my mother to wait too long on the other end of the line. "Mom's on the phone. She really wants to talk to you."

My father sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Tell her to wait a bit and call me back, alright? I'm already running behind as it is."

"She sounds really scared though, dad. I tried to tell her you were busy, but she started yelling at me until I promised to come get you…"

My father stared at me for a moment before emitting another long sigh and rising to his feet.

"This had better be a real emergency, then," I heard him muttering as he went to pick the phone back up. I remained in the hallway, peeking around the corner from a slight distance while I tried to pick out bits and pieces of the conversation, based on my father's reactions.

"Alright, Sarah, what was so important that you needed to interrupt my work? Honestly, one of you had better be _dead _or _dying _for you to-" Having presumably been cut off, my father abruptly fell silent Then, as he listened further to whatever my mother was telling him, his face turned almost deathly pale, and his hands started visibly shaking.

"Oh. ...Yes…. yes… I'm sorry, hang on, Ryou and I will be over there as soon as possible… yes, I'll see you in a minute Sarah…. of course we'll be careful, so don't worry so much about us." His expression completely unreadable, my father hung up the phone before turning towards the hallway, his eyes meeting with mine. He stared at me for a moment, eyes so wide that it looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"Ryou, we…" His voice cracked on the second word, and he cleared his throat, turning his face completely away from me before continuing. "We need to go meet up with your mother, alright?" His voice had taken on an urgent tone reminiscent of the one my mother had had just a few minutes earlier.

I tilted my head in confusion. "Did something happen…? Dad, what's going on? Where are mom and Amane?"

My father didn't answer. He threw my sweatshirt to me from the coat rack, and motioned for me to hurry up and throw on my shoes. By then, I was so confused, worried, and unsettled that I didn't even think to complain about needing to go outside. The only thing I knew for sure was that something major had happened. Something bad, bad enough to send my calm mother into near hysterics and tear my father away from his precious work in a matter of seconds.

My father didn't say a single word to me throughout the fifteen minutes it took for us to reach our destination. And as soon as we made our final turn into the entrance to the largest hospital in our area, I didn't need him to. I didn't _want _him to. I could see the glass surrounding my perfect world starting to crack, and even if it was just for a few more minutes, I wanted to try as hard as I could to prevent the moment that it would shatter into a million pieces.

My mother was waiting on a bench a few feet from the entrance to the emergency room. When she saw us coming, she stood up and ran towards us. I instinctively searched for Amane, who should have been right by my mother's side. Maybe I thought that if I found her, everything would be alright. Even if this mystery situation was real, my little sister- too young to understand that anything was wrong- would have kept smiling, and eased my nerves even the smallest amount.

But the area surrounding my mother was empty, and there was nothing even resembling happiness being expressed by anyone.

The strange feeling from earlier- which had never really gone away, although I had stopped thinking about it before then- intensified as soon as my sister's absence sank in. My vision blurred, and my knees shook, threatening to give out completely at any moment. I'm guessing from here on out, but I think my mother noticed my reaction and bent down to pull me into a hug, whispering something to me that I was too out of it to comprehend. Then she stood up and addressed my father, and this time I made out bits and pieces of what she was saying, despite her efforts to stay quiet.

"...Ran out…"

"...On impact, so… didn't feel…"

And just like that, the paradise that I had lived in for the first eleven years of my life collapsed in on itself, trapping me under the rubble.

I blacked out what I think was a few seconds after that, but could have easily been minutes. Everything else had changed in the blink of an eye, I figured, so the passage of time was probably no exception. That was why I knew it would be alright if I left the world behind for just a little while. I probably thought that I could escape reality for just long enough that I could rebuild the foundation of my life before I woke up. But as I had learned only moments before, the world wasn't perfect,and second chances like those didn't exist.

The last thing I remember seeing before giving into unconsciousness was a small, forgotten box of cream puffs resting on the bench my mother had come from, silently watching the sobbing family whose lives had only just begun to unravel.

Xxx

Well, I promised you guys that the new chapter would be longer, and in a completely OOC moment for me, I actually lived up to that.

For the record, though, I feel like I should mention that this fic won't be entirely my interpretation of Ryou and his life (as fun as it is to make him cry in a canon setting). Yes, that is going to be the foundation for the story as a whole, and I'd be lying if I said there weren't going to be a few more chapters focusing more exclusively on Ryou's (headcanon) past. But since I know there's a chance that long character backgrounds are a turnoff for some people, I just wanted to make it clear that there will be more to this than just that. _The Wall _has _26 songs, _you guys. And in case the chapter name (as well as the new name of chapter 1) and a possible quick google search didn't make it obvious, _those individual songs are all inspiring their own chapter. _This is going to be long- the longest fic that i've ever completed by far, assuming I manage to get that far. I have big ideas for this fic. BIG ideas. So if you stick with me through a bit more exposition, I promise you I'll try to make it worth it.

Chapter 3 is already in the rough draft phase, so I should have it out sometime in the next week. In the meantime, I would really appreciate it if you dropped me a review. It distracts me from the AP hell that is my junior year of high school.


	3. Another Brick in the Wall, Pt 1

Our house was always a lot quieter after Amane's death. The mundane, everyday noises- the tunes my mother would hum while cooking dinner, my father's quiet chuckles at anything he found amusing, and the blaring of old cartoon reruns Amane and I would, without any exceptions whatsoever, sit in front of every Saturday morning- all vanished almost immediately.

None of us could bring ourselves to do what we needed to bring them back, either. My mother never sang while she cooked, because her definition of "cooking" eventually became "calling the number on whichever takeout menu she pulled out of the drawer in the kitchen." My father never laughed, because there was nothing to laugh about- nothing was ever funny to any of us anymore. And the TV always remained blank and silent on Saturdays, because one glance at the shows I had recited word for word as Amane's bedtime stories was enough to make me inconsolable for hours.

All of these minor things had been small enough that we had taken them for granted while they were still there, but looking back on it, I can't help but wonder if their disappearance was a factor in the downward spiral that threatened to pull our family closer to rock bottom, every moment of every day.

It made sense, though- the once-commonplace happiness in the Bakura household simply wasn't there anymore. Even my mother, who had always been so vibrant and cheerful even when things got difficult, spent an increasing amount of her days in her bedroom, locking the door and not speaking a word all day. Even when she did remember I was in the house and came out to say something to me, she always looked and sounded completely exhausted. Losing her youngest daughter, the only other female member of the family, at such a young age was a harsh blow for her, and it was only made worse by the fact that she had been right there with her the day it happened. She was never the same person after that day- she had given up on trying to make things better, and all I could do was watch her get worse in some vicious cycle she kept up without even realizing it.

Every now and then my father would attempt to talk her out of her constant bad moods, but that was rare, as he was almost never home to do so. Even before Amane's death he had been gone more often than not, but now days would pass before my mother and I would get so much as a phone call. He told me once, years later, that he couldn't stand the negative atmosphere at our apartment anymore. He took on as many extra hours as his job would let him, and if he still wanted to run away after that, he went to a cheap bar a few minutes from his office and drank some cheap alcohol until he couldn't even _remember _that there had been a little girl named Amane.

As for me, it had quickly become my job to take care of any household chores. I had been raised in a home where everything was clean all the time, and once my mother lost any motivation she had had to tidy things up, I found myself doing everything on my own, without being asked. I never really minded, though- I was just dealing with our situation in a way completely opposite from my mother's. While she was content to lie in bed staring at the ceiling all day, I felt like I was going to go crazy if I didn't keep myself busy at least most of the time. I realized around then that I had an interest in cooking as well, after I realized how tired I was of eating sweet and sour chicken every night.

my new hobby did require me to start going out for ingredients, though, and that was the hardest part of my new routine to adjust to. My mother had not only lifted her ban from me that forbade me to leave the house alone, she outright refused to go with me. Even the smallest reminders of her trip outside with Amane would cause her to break down sobbing, and compared to that, my fears of going outside were absolutely miniscule. I stopped minding as much after the first couple of months, though, because I started to look forward to the time I could spend outside of the apartment. The longer I spent at home, the more I would suffocate under the smothering, gloomy atmosphere that everyone inside , it became an ironic sort of comfort to slip outside and mix into the enormous crowds, pretending that I was still a normal child from a perfect family.

Even if I tried to space out my trips by never leaving without a reason, I would always take extra, subliminal efforts to keep myself outside as long as possible. I would linger by the vegetables as I searched for the perfectly-shaped carrot, hesitate to stare in wonder at an elaborate window display, and make mental notes of the winding streets and alleyways I could use as detours when I was done shopping. I was making up for the two years I had spent cooped up inside, and finally seeing what the city had to offer.

Eventually, though, I would run out of tasks to entertain myself with, and I would return home. No matter how many times I stepped inside, the moment where I remembered who I was and what my situation was always sent a sharp pain through my chest. The apartment, filled with a heavy, dead silence, was all the reminder I needed to know that I wasn't _really _an anonymous boy of almost twelve years anymore, who could convince anyone and everyone that the world was wonderful with nothing more than a smile and some polite words.

I was simply Ryou Bakura, a boy who could no longer even convince _himself _that the world was wonderful.

After a while, those days began to blur together, forming a mass of memories that was similar to the blur of my earlier childhood. My mind seemed to divide itself, in a way, until I had two distinctly blurry sections of my memory. But I couldn't bring myself to focus on the details from either one, even if I tried- remembering the dark, recent past was understandably painful, and I tried to avoid those thoughts as often as possible.

The surprising part for me was how painful the _good _memories had become. Any passing thought of my sister would only remind me that I would never see her again. All thoughts of my mother would make me imagine her in her room, silent and unsmiling- the complete opposite of the mother I remembered. And any memories of my friends from childhood would only force me to face the truth, and admit that I was completely alone now. All of these thoughts would crush me just as hard as the painful ones, because I was convinced that no matter how much I wanted to get those early years back, I was never going to see them again.

I spent countless nights lying in bed while still wide awake, insomnia taking over to the point where sleep became more uncommon than consciousness. And every single time, I laid there silently and motionlessly, wondering if I could fade and disappear into the surrounding darkness with enough effort.

I will say, though, that I never wanted to die. I spent months watching the devastating effects that Amane's death had on my parents. And while it was painfully obvious that my parents weren't as concerned about my well-being as they had been before the accident, I still wanted to believe that they cared a little bit. I didn't want either of them to suffer any more than they already had, and I couldn't stand to think of what might happen to them if they lost the only child they had left. I kept myself going with the questionable belief that I was keeping our family together, even if it as just by a thread. So I continued to exist, trapped in a world where time had screeched to a halt and everything refused to change, for better or for worse.

Until suddenly, everything shifted back into motion. And when it did, I only found myself drifting further away from my old life, wondering why I had wished for anything to change.

Xxx

One night, I woke up to a loud crashing sound from our living room, followed by the sound of shattered glass scattering everywhere. Still half-asleep, I initially wrote it off as the remnants of a forgotten dream, and rolled over with the intention of going back to sleep- I didn't want to waste a night where sleep came easily. But I had only just closed my eyes when the noise was quickly followed by yelling that easily traveled through the thin walls around my bedroom.

"Damn it, Sarah, think about what you're doing here! You aren't the only one in this family, so be a little more considerate of the rest of us!"

"Oh, so when you leave me at home alone with our son for days at a time while you work and get wasted, you're doing it for the sake of our whole family?"

Slowly, I sat up, trying to listen in and make sense of what I was hearing. As far as I could tell, this was my mother and father, arguing over something I knew nothing about. I had never really heard them fight like that before that night, and I had assumed those types of things only existed in movies and television. A year ago, I wouldn't have considered the possibility of a fight like this between _anyone,_ let alone my parents. Now I just sat in my bed silently, without any real reaction- my parents weren't the same people they had been before Amane's death, and I had accepted that a long time ago. I had no reason to be surprised by their sudden aggression.

"This is different than what I've done, and you know it! Honestly, how is having a job and getting a few drinks anywhere _near _suddenly leaving by yourself to go to America? I do my job so that you and Ryou can stay home and eat every day- what are you going to do after leaving us behind?"

I froze. My mother was… leaving? She was getting on a plane, completely alone, and flying halfway across the world? She was abandoning my father and I?

No matter how many times I repeated the idea in my head, I couldn't comprehend it at all. How long ago had she started planning this? How much time did she spend planning this, making absolutely sure that my father and I wouldn't find out and try to stop her?

_Why _was she doing something like that?

"If you want to keep contributing to the family like that, go ahead. Leave Ryou here alone, and keep staying out all night while you drink your problems away. Or you could sober up and be a dad for once in your life, you know- I've taken responsibility for that boy for twelve years, and you know as well as I do that I can't handle that anymore."

"What, _I _can handle a full time job _and _taking care of him? He has to eat, and that won't happen if I don't work- where do you think money comes from?"

For some reason, it was when my parents started arguing about me that I couldn't bring myself to listen anymore. I didn't want to hear the two people I loved more than anything else in the world as they talked about me like some sort of pet, trying to push me onto each other because neither one wanted me around. I closed my eyes and tried to block my ears with my pillow, trying desperately to fall back to sleep and escape whatever twisted reality I was in at the time. I wouldn't have minded if the world I awakened to was a bland, colorless monotony. If things weren't going to brighten up, then I would have been perfectly fine living in a monochrome world forever.

Anything would have been fine, really, so long as the world didn't become any darker than it already was.

Xxx

By that morning, my mother had already vanished.

My father told me this point blank, staring straight at me with emotionless eyes. He said she had "gone away for a while to sort things out for herself," and that he had no idea when (or even if) she was going to come back. I just nodded. I didn't need, or even _want,_ to know anything else.

My father moved closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, in an awkward sort of hug that was probably his best attempt at comforting me.

"Do you want to talk about this at all, Ryou? Are you alright?" I muttered that I was fine, and stared down at the kitchen floor, wanting nothing more than for him to leave and let me figure things out on my own. He stared at me for a long moment with some unrecognizable emotion flashing through his eyes, then removed his arm from around me.

"I'll be in my office if you change your mind, then," he finally said, after a long pause. "Now that it's just the two of us, I'm going to try to work from home more often. I'll try not to lock the door as often, so just let me know if you ever need anything." He didn't look back at me once as he closed himself up in his office down the hall, leaving me alone in our cramped, messy kitchen.

At that point, I probably should have felt worse than I did. If my mother had abandoned me before all these horrible things had started happening, I would have had no idea how to handle it. My whole life would have come screeching to a halt without her. But when I imagined her in some foreign country all the way across the ocean, miles away from all the problems that made her sink so low in the first place, I felt more relieved than anything else. Even if I hadn't really spoken to my mother in almost a year, I still hated the idea of her being so upset. If abandoning my father and I was what it took to make her smile the way she used to, then even the small part of me that protested against her absence wasn't enough for me to wish she had stayed here.

Xxx

_...Why couldn't anyone keep her here?_

It started raining later that morning, and continued late into the evening, when the 5:00 news came on. I only remember that because I had been planning to go shopping until I heard a loud crack of thunder, and rain started coming down in sheets. That was why I had resigned myself to sitting mindlessly in front of the TV,still too numb from that morning's news about my mother to think of a new, productive plan.

The first few stories they covered were nothing special- simple crimes and inconveniences that occurred relatively often in cities as huge as Tokyo. A convenience store robbery, the beginning of a major road construction project… problems that only mattered to the people who were directly involved and would need to pay for them, and that everyone else would just consider background noise. Small, insignificant events that would be entirely forgotten as soon as their five minutes of fame were up.

At 5:13 P.M, after a quick commercial break, they started to talk about their "breaking news" for the evening- a plane crash, that had just been updated with new information.

At first, I only felt a little bit unnerved, and assumed that it came with the severity of a story like that. I didn't try to think about it any more than that. Even if the newscasters said that the plane had departed from Tokyo's airport earlier that day, it didn't _have _to mean anything. There had to have been _hundreds _of flights that left the city that morning. The odds of it being a plane with any _significance_ were just too-

"Flight #9029 left for New York City at 12:10 this afternoon, with 36 passengers and 4 crew members on board."

_...New York City…? Wasn't that…_

"The cause of the crash was unknown, and the wreckage of the plane was found on an island off the coast of Osaka, where the pilot had attempted to-"

"Turn it off, Ryou."

I jumped a bit when I heard my father's voice from the doorway. His tone, which lately had carried little to no emotion whenever he spoke, was more forced than it normally was- his voice shook with each of the few words he said, even if his voice sounded neutral as always. I couldn't help but turn around and look at his face. Something was obviously wrong; I could tell that much from his expression. It never took him this much effort to stay calm and composed. If there was nothing wrong, he wouldn't be shaking, his eyes wouldn't be wide, and his face wouldn't be as white as a sheet. As much as I hated to say it, he probably wouldn't even be _talking _to me.

But he was, and every single one of those things was true.

So, I concluded, something bad _must _have happened.

"Ryou. _Turn it off."_

I stood up, and wordlessly did as he told me. I didn't let myself show any emotion, but inside, I was a complete mess, because I wasn't stupid- I already knew exactly what had happened. I didn't turn back to look at my father, because I didn't need him to tell me that my mother had boarded flight #9029 that morning, hoping to arrive in New York as soon as possible. No, he didn't need to tell me, and I didn't _want _him to tell me.

It didn't matter, after the banner across the bottom of the screen announced that everyone on board had been declared dead at the scene.

…I didn't want my father to say anything at all.

Xxx

I should probably apologize for the delay in getting this chapter finished. I wasn't lying when I said in my last author's note that I had started the draft for this chapter. I really did start it immediately after the second one went up. But in all honesty, I have been _much_ busier this past month and a half than I thought I would be when I promised regular updates. I've been working on it here and there when I can, but realistically, between school being a little bitch (If anyone has taken AP US History before, you probably understand), drama club responsibilities, and other assorted "fun," I have a bit more to deal with than I had thought. So sorry about that. But hey, long chapter with extra angst. Ryou is starting to get more bitter. Get excited.

Next chapter won't take this long. I (kind of, probably) promise. In the meantime, feel free to review if you have any burning questions, comments, or concerns. Or, you know, if you just like what I've done so far. I like talking about my writing with people, so don't hold back.


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